


Snapshot

by NatRoze



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Multi, absurd levels of cute, weirdly colorful descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/pseuds/NatRoze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[“That’s a good question,” Kusanagi says. “Mikoto, what even is your type? Never seen ya date anyone in all the years we’ve been together.”<br/>	Suoh thinks that this is because all these years, they’ve been together.<br/>	He doesn’t have a type. Or at least not one singular type. Totsuka and Kusanagi are too different to be grouped into one specific “type,” unless that type is “attractive members of Homra that are willing to cuddle with a walking firebomb.”]</p><p> </p><p>In which Suoh Mikoto, Totsuka Tatara, and Kusanagi Izumo essentially find themselves at the center of a romantic singularity.<br/>And in the end, it's really as simple as that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several months ago and for some reason just never ever posted it??

_Snapshot_

* * *

 

_Eight Years Ago_

_Suoh_

The day that Suoh meets Totsuka is cold, the kind of unseasonable cold that prickles along your skin like tiny, translucent barbs that catch the hairs on your arms and stick in your eyelashes. It wasn't snow, but it could've been. As they’re chatting in the bar, Kusanagi gets a call from someone (who knows who), and they tell him some kid in the hospital is calling for Suoh, and calling him his king.

Suoh thinks, bleakly, that he doesn't understand charisma and he never will, but he gets in Kusanagi's van and they go to the hospital anyway. It's cold out, but Suoh doesn't throw on a jacket over his school uniform. He simply doesn't notice the chill, and as they get out of the van and walk through the parking lot, Kusanagi bumps shoulders with him and links their arms. Suoh gives him a Look _; you're invading my personal space._

"Izumo."

"What? 's freezing."

"Oh," he says. He hadn't realized. "So?"

"You're warm," Kusanagi says, and slips Suoh's hand out of his pocket and tangles their fingers together. Kusanagi's hand is cold against his, but comfortable, like silk ribbons twisted around his fingers. Like a calm, blue-grey sky, and Suoh looks up and sees such a sky, and he thinks it looks like snow. It's October, but it's possible. Kusanagi squeezes his hand lightly.

Suoh thinks friendship is an interesting thing, and that much the same way that there's a thin, electric-bright line between hatred and obsession, there's a similar line, a quietly smoldering one, between friendship and romance, and he and Kusanagi are performing a tightrope act upon it. At some point, they’re going to have to fall in one direction or the other.

They enter the hospital, are directed to the kid's room, and as they open the door Kusanagi breaks off the contact.

Suoh recognizes the boy in the bed, with a huge cast all the way up his leg, his arm in a sling, and bandages around his head. He's been following Suoh around for the past six days at school. An underclassman. A middle schooler, even. A kid. He can't be older than fourteen. He's been skirting around the edges of the hallways, poking his head in the door of Suoh's classroom, spontaneously showing up in the same cafés and on the same buses and not saying a word besides "Hello, King!"

And every time, Suoh's said, "Screw off, kid," or "Hm," or more often said nothing at all.

Suoh thinks this kid's smiling far too much for someone with a broken leg and arm, and bandages around his head. He's been gotten good, probably by the punks in Kusanagi's grade, seniors who think they're hot shit and can't stand that Suoh can flip them over his shoulder with hardly any effort. This kid probably heard them cussing him out, poked his nose in where it doesn't need to be and stuck up for him, and then quickly discovered there's more to a street fight than shouting out peace and justice like a shonen manga hero. Suoh stares at this kid, laughing like a carefree child, and he feels a burning rush of rage behind his eyes, in the back of his head, and his throat tightens and his fists ball up involuntarily. He sees this kid -Totsuka Tatara; he introduced himself once - he sees him smiling and laughing because Suoh's here at all, sees what happened to him and he sees that it's somehow, indirectly but definitely, because of him.

It must've hurt like hell.

"Who did this to you?" Suoh asks, unaware that he's just interrupted Kusanagi saying something.

Totsuka says something stupid, and Suoh doesn't really listen to him because his thoughts are blazing bright with fury at whoever thought it was a good idea to beat up a kid for standing up for someone who wasn't there to rain down fury on them himself. Suoh's aware that Totsuka's asking him something pointless, and silly, and inane, and he's got this innocent grin that never leaves and melts through Suoh's skin and seeps into his soul.

Suoh whacks him over the head and says, "I asked you who did this to you?"

And then he leaves without waiting for an answer, because he's sure he knows anyway, and he's going to do far worse than put those punks in the hospital.

He's sitting shotgun in the van when Kusanagi catches up to him.

"What're you gonna do, Mikoto?" he asks, hopping into the driver's seat. He starts the car and flicks on the heat immediately. Suoh hadn't realized it was cold enough to warrant it.

"Drive. I know where we're going," he says.

Ten minutes later, they pull up on the curb and Kusanagi follows Suoh behind the school, because the punk upperclassmen aren't creative enough to take their misdemeanors somewhere more interesting. He strides lazily up to where they’re leaning up against the back of the building, smoking something that smells so strong he can feel it from ten feet back.

It's hardly an hour after school. There must've been people on campus to see them, to at least have seen them steer Totsuka back behind the building.

Suoh stands before them, and glares. They jeer at each other for a while, saying stupid shit like "What's this kid doin' here?" and "It's that little punk, Suoh" and "stupid cocky first-year; let's show him who's in charge."

Suoh takes a deep breath and sighs. "So, was it you guys then?"

"Was what us?" one of them drawls.

"Was it you guys who thought it made you look tough to beat the living hell out of a middle school kid who can't fight back?"

The punks laugh. "What, you mean that little short dweeb who kept saying… what was he saying?" one of them says.

"He said 'stop bad-mouthing the king' or some bull like that," another replies. "Probably got eighth-grader syndrome. Thinks he's in an anime."

"And so you beat him up," Suoh clarifies. "He heard you talking shit about me, and he said something about it, so you beat him up."

"Mikoto," Kusanagi warns, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don't-"

Suoh pushes his hand off, gently. He waves his hand over his shoulder and gives Kusanagi a Look; _don't worry. I'll be done in a moment._

He grabs one of the punks by the front of his shirt, and socks him in the jaw, and he feels a boiling red in his chest, a burning, blazing, glorious fury.

Before he knows it, the guys are all on the ground. Some of them are moving. Some of them aren't. There's blood on Suoh's knuckles. Kusanagi's hands are on his forearms, holding him back, tensely, desperately.

"Mikoto," he gasps, "Give it a rest! They got the message."

Suoh shrugs him off, and to the punks he says –rather, he growls, "You don't fuck with me and mine."

He turns, and he leaves, shaking, and Kusanagi drives them back to the bar in silence. He puts tea on to boil in the kitchen in the back when they return. Suoh stands in the middle of the room, not saying anything, not sure how to move. The fury hasn't burned itself all the way out yet. His fists won’t unclench themselves. His vision won’t unfocus, and everything looks bright and sharp and intense. Kusanagi takes him by the hand, gently, hardly touching him, as if he's afraid -maybe he is, and that thought terrifies Suoh to his core- and leads him to the sofa. He maneuvers Suoh down into a sitting position, and then the kettle starts whistling so he goes to the kitchen and returns to Suoh's side a moment later with two cups of tea on a tray.

"Drink this," he says. Suoh takes one, and Kusanagi adds, "Careful, they're still really hot." Suoh shrugs; doesn't feel _that_ hot. It's more of a comforting heat, an ever-present humming under his fingers, a calming sunset orange in his hands.

He takes a sip, and it nearly burns his tongue, so he puts it down on the side table. He sighs, breathes out the remaining rage and inhales the scent of tea and calmness and the familiar alcoholic tint of the bar. He reaches for the tea again, changes his mind, and pulls Kusanagi to himself instead.

"Woah," says Kusanagi, as Suoh drags him down into his arms. It's not particularly comfortable; Kusanagi's half-laying on Suoh, has his arms draped over Suoh's shoulders and his face buried in Suoh's neck. It's almost more intimate than Suoh's comfortable with, but there they are toeing that thin, smoky-red burning line again.

"Mikoto?" he says softly, readjusting himself to lean more comfortably against Suoh's chest.

"Shut up," says Suoh. "Just…"

 _Just let me be,_ he thinks, and it goes unsaid between them as they breathe. _Just let me hold on, just for a bit, so I can pull myself back down to earth_.

 

* * *

                                                                                                              

_Kusanagi_

The next time they see Totsuka, Mikoto kicks him out of the bar. It's hypocritical, because Mikoto himself is only sixteen, but Totsuka Tatara comes bubbling into the bar with a blithe smile on his face and all it takes is the word "King!" out of his mouth for Mikoto to pick him up by the back of his shirt and put him right back out the door with no explanation other than "You're fourteen, get out."

Totsuka comes back immediately, and Kusanagi sighs. So many minors in his bar. Not that he's setting a great example, and at eighteen and a half he's the one mixing drinks. Mikoto sighs as well, deeper, and Totsuka makes his way over to the bar and seats himself right next to him. He’s not on crutches anymore, but he’s still limping plenty. Totsuka leans on the counter and watches Mikoto stare into his soda. Kusanagi raises an eyebrow, because he's a savvy mofo and he knows an idol crush when he sees one. Totsuka's smitten, absolutely in adoration of Suoh Mikoto. Kusanagi feels a horrible, guilty pang in his gut, a boiling acid yellow-green called jealousy, twisted up in in a burnt-black possessiveness that makes him want to drop his inhibition and compromise his friendship with Mikoto in favor of leaning across the bar and kissing him. Just to show this kid who belongs to whom around here.

Or something like that.

Instead, he smiles, airy and suave, and says to Totsuka, "What can I getcha?"

"Orange soda," Totsuka says with a smile like sunflowers. "Please."

"Righto," says Kusanagi, and he pops the top off a bottle of Fanta for the kid. "Totsuka, right?" he says.

"Right." Totsuka nods. "But I don't know you."

"Kusanagi Izumo."

"Nice to meet you."

Kusanagi realizes quickly, unwillingly, that Totsuka's sunflower smile is contagious. Even Mikoto's mouth is edging into something like a half of a smirk.

"Are you a senior?" Totsuka asks. Kusanagi nods. "You go to school with the King?"

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Kusanagi wonders.

"Well, don't you feel it?" Totsuka says, and he gestures towards Mikoto. The way he says it, it's as if it's so obvious that the answer is simply shining out of Mikoto's being, like the light of god. Like the city at midnight. Like a flame in the dark.

"Feel what?" says Kusanagi, and mixes himself a martini.

"Aren't you too young to drink?" Totsuka asks.

"It's _my_ bar."

"It's your uncle's bar," Mikoto corrects.

"Like he ever does anythin' for it," Kusanagi says. "In any case, Totsuka, what am I s'posed to be feeling?"

"Everything's warmer when he's around," Totsuka says. "And more energetic. I feel more optimistic when I'm with him. He just sort of has this… I don't know, majestic, kingly sort of air about him."

"If by kingly you mean he sits in his throne at the bar and makes me wait on him, then yeah, I feel ya," Kusanagi says, laughing. "Mikoto? Kingly?"

"But no, seriously," Totsuka insists. "Get closer, look. Pay attention."

Kusanagi side-eyes him, and steps a foot closer to Mikoto. Nothing. He steps closer still. Leans in. Closes his eyes. Feels, subtly, quietly, a thin layer of slowly simmering heat, like an aura of permanent California weather.

"Izumo, what the hell are you doing?" says Mikoto, and Kusanagi opens his eyes. He's kind of like, an inch away from Mikoto's face. "And could you two quit talking about me like I'm not here?"

"Sorry," Kusanagi laughs, but his heart's not in it; it's somewhere else entirely, in a place where the sun hangs permanently in the sky at seven-thirty on a summer’s night, and pretty redheaded punk underclassmen aren’t so stubbornly oblivious.

He backs off and backs up and goes to pull a new packet of cigarettes out from under the bar, but there's none there. They're out of the good stuff, darn it.

"You look constipated," Totsuka points out. "You okay?"

Kusanagi gives him a Look; _kid, you better button your yap before I button it for ya._

"We're outta smokes," he says melancholically.   
"Then go buy some more," says Mikoto.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Ignoring you," Kusanagi says, "because I know you won't binge-drink in my absence, I can't leave this one here without some kinda supervision." He points accusingly at Totsuka. "And quite honestly, Mikoto, you're not exactly the ideal babysitter."

"I'm not gonna get drunk or something, silly. Alcohol smells weird anyway," Totsuka says, pouting.

"I still can't leave ya here."

"The take him with you," Mikoto says. "I'll watch the bar."

Kusanagi waffles back and forth, wringing his hands and saying, "Oh, uh, um," because he can't think of what else to say, and eventually, "well, if that's how it's gotta go down…" and he steps out from behind the bar, pulls Totsuka off his stool, and makes for the door. "We oughta be back in a half-hour or so," he says, and they exit.

Totsuka ambles down the street next to Kusanagi, who does his best to not make things awkward.

"So, got any hobbies?" he asks, because what else do an eighteen-year-old who owns a bar and a fourteen-year-old with no sense of self-preservation have in common to talk about?

"I have a lot, but they sort of come in and out. I do something for a while, and then I catch onto something else."

"Huh," Kusanagi says. "So what're you into right now?"

"Hmm, music," he says. "That one keeps coming back, mostly because I have the guitar around. I couldn’t play it with a broken arm though."

"What kinda music?"

"Poetic stuff?"

_He's really light-hearted._

They walk for a long time, and it starts getting dark. Kusanagi didn't realize it was quite that late in the day, but it _is_ winter after all. It starts drizzling rain, tiny little shards falling out of the sky and pricking the skin of Kusanagi's face and hands with cold. Next to him, Totsuka shivers.

"Where exactly is the store we're going?" Totsuka asks.

"Like, right around the corner," Kusanagi says. "I think."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Course, stupid." _I have no idea where we are._

"Are you sure?"

"Totally." _Totally lost._

They walk down another street, and find themselves in the red-light district. Kusanagi starts cussing the sky blue under his breath.

"We're lost," Totsuka says, laughing. He's peering around at all the signs and people. Kusanagi feels inexplicably guilty and infinitely awkward. Totsuka’s fourteen; the red-light district is no place for _that lady is really attractive_ no place for a kid like that _what the hell is even in that shop window over there_ -

"Shut up," he says, spinning Totsuka back the other direction.

"Hey, don't sweat it. It'll work out, y'know?" he says. "We could call the king or something and he could come get us-"

"Do y'think he can drive? He's younger than _me_. 'Sides, he probably fell asleep like an hour ago."

"Oh, yeah. Well, we could take the bus."

"Yeah, I guess," Kusanagi sighs. He shivers. It's freezing. He subconsciously reaches out with his right hand for Mikoto, but of course he isn't there. Kusanagi always goes for Mikoto when it's cold out. It's like he's immune to temperature or something; he's always the perfect shade of goldenrod warmth-

_Oh. That’s what he meant._

"Kusanagi-san?" Totsuka says. They stop at the bus station and wait. "You okay?"

"It's cold," he says, shivering. It's cold and Mikoto's not there to burn it away.

"Yeah," Totsuka agrees, and then he steps in front of Kusanagi, and he steps in _close_ and loops an arm around Kusanagi's waist, inside his jacket. His hand is a solid heat radiating through the fabric of Kusanagi's shirt. Kusanagi blinks slowly, unsurely, a little confused. Totsuka's leaning on him, his head resting on Kusanagi's chest. He's warm, but not nearly as warm as Mikoto (his only other frame of reference for body heat and near-intimate closeness), and about five inches shorter than him to boot.

"What are you doing?" Kusanagi says slowly. His arms stay at his sides, hands in pockets.

"Sharing body heat," he says simply. "Kusanagi-san, you're really warm."

"...Thanks?"

And it's at that point that Kusanagi can see two very different Totsuka Tataras. There's the happy-go-lucky, reckless, whimsical Totsuka that calls Mikoto his king and laughs in the hospital and seems to fear nothing. And then there's the soft-spoken, mature beyond his years Totsuka that's wrapped around him in the middle of the street at rush hour. He seems like one of those kinds of kids, with the way he's holding on so carefully, so closely to someone he's just barely gotten to know (they've been talking for an hour and a half, but Kusanagi feels like they hardly know each other still). One of those kids, who've grown up without enough love, who're desperately reaching out, consciously or otherwise, for somewhere to be and someone to be with.

Someone, anyone, he could have anyone at all and he latches on to Suoh Mikoto. And apparently, to Kusanagi Izumo as well.  He needs someone, clearly, and he latches on to _them_.

Kusanagi pulls his hands out of his pockets and tugs Totsuka up against his chest. Totsuka stumbles a little bit, and then sighs and readjusts his grip a little bit tighter.

Well, he needs someone to hold on to, and he's reaching for them, and Kusanagi's never been one to turn away if someone needs him. He's always been the kind of guy who people go to when they need a friend, need a shoulder to cry on, need a person to just… be.

The bus comes, and they get on, get off back at the bar, and sure enough Mikoto's asleep on the counter. So Kusanagi drags him up the stairs (he complains half-coherently), and Totsuka follows because Kusanagi's promised him dinner that isn't instant noodles. They share a bowl of instant fried rice instead, and they wake Mikoto up to make him eat too, and then somehow it's eight in the evening and all three of them are curled up on Mikoto’s bed, listening to the rain on the roof and discussing the pros and cons of inciting a revolution and overthrowing the school principal in an attempt to reduce the amount of homework they're being assigned. And Kusanagi, who's got Mikoto using him as a pillow and Totsuka snuggled up against his side, wishes they could stay like that forever.

 

* * *

 

_Totsuka_

The first time Totsuka wins a fight is the day after Kusanagi's twentieth birthday. He's been in quite a number of them since ending up irrevocably associated with Kusanagi Izumo and Suoh Mikoto. The irrevocable association, along with the first fight post-befriending the King, came from the group of guys who'd put him in the hospital. They decided he must be one of Them, and tried to beat him up under the suspicion that he'd sent the King after them. Totsuka almost laughed, and then he almost got a black eye. He's just lucky he's short enough to duck and fast enough to hide in the girls' bathroom without anyone noticing him enter. That's very nearly the first fight, and he only gets out of it by climbing through the window and then dropping eight feet to the ground outside and nearly breaking his leg again.

The second fight he's in involves (probably) the Yakuza, but he really can't be sure because every time he asks Kusanagi the only response he gets is "I don't wanna talk about it" and so by now he's dropped the issue. In any case, the fight involved him nearly getting brained by a guy brandishing a busted length of pipe, and rapidly following that it involved Kusanagi stealing one of their guns and shouting a lot, and the King punching pretty much everyone in the face.

And it had ended with all three of them hiding behind the counter in the bar with their hands clapped over Kusanagi's mouth to keep him from screaming at them for shooting at his bar.

And there were a couple more, here and there, between the time he turned fifteen and now, and in one of them he actually succeeded in kicking some goon in the shins before being forced to run for it.

Totsuka knows by now how to tell if there is or isn't an easy way out of a fight.

There is not only no easy way out of this fight, there's no hard way either. Totsuka sort of wishes there were at least a moderate-level way out, an above-average-difficulty-level way out, but no. There is one way out of this fight, and it's the lunatic-mode extreme difficulty level: actually win the fight.

So Totsuka says, to the very angry thugs who recognize him as the guy who was with Suoh Mikoto when he put their gang's leader in the hospital, "I'm sure there's a civil way we could work this out."

And then he has to duck, because the big guy in front is taking a swing at him. He ducks and tries a jab, just the way Kusanagi showed him the other day after he nearly got knocked out. He misses, or maybe the guy dodges.

"You're gonna get it, punk," says one of the thugs, and he grabs Totsuka by the arm and wrenches him over to the group of them. One of them hoists him up by the wrists and another says "Hold him still while I give him a good one."

There's a fist coming at Totsuka's face, and he shuts his eyes.

He hears a scream, a pathetic child-faced-with-a-huge-spider sort of scream.

He opens his eyes.

He supposes it must've been a reflex, because his leg's swung straight upwards and kicked his assaulter in the balls.

The thug drops to the ground, covering his junk in case of a second attack. The guy holding him up drops him and shoves him forward, tripping him. Totsuka hardly notices, because he's just dropped a thug twice his size with a nicely-timed kick to the 'nads. He's bubbling, broiling with pride in himself. He finally got the drop on someone. He finally, sort of, won. He hardly even remembers the other thugs are there until the guy he kicked heaves himself unhappily back up off the concrete and cracks his knuckles.

Half an hour later, Totsuka limps into the bar and falls over just inside the doorway.

There is a lot of shouting on Kusanagi's part, something about bleeding on the nice clean floors, mingling with drastic worry, and a pair of warm hands picking him up, gentle but firm on his hips, and he's carried over to the couch.

"Izumo, first aid kit," says the King, and Totsuka opens his eyes. Kneeling on the floor in front of him is Suoh Mikoto, hands still lightly on Totsuka's waist, careful, as if afraid to hurt him somehow. He's still got a bandage on his cheek from yesterday, from when he'd shown up for Kusanagi's birthday having come from the fight in which he’d put the leader of the gang Totsuka'd just fought in the hospital. He and Kusanagi'd had a fight, and the King had stormed out (and come back half an hour later for Kusanagi to stick bandages all over).

"What happened?" Suoh says as Kusanagi sits down on the sofa next to him and pops the lid off the first aid kit.

"You know the guy you sent to the ER yesterday?" Totsuka says. Suoh nods. "Yeah, his friends recognized me."

The King says nothing, but his eyebrows knit together and his hands feel suddenly rigid against Totsuka's sides. Kusanagi starts cleaning a cut on his cheek that he didn't know he'd gotten.

"I beat one of 'em," Totsuka points out, indignant. "For real."

"How?"

"I kicked him in the balls."

The King scoffs. "Did he get back up a minute later?" Totsuka nods. "Then you didn't win, moron." He helps Kusanagi remove Totsuka's shirt so they can patch up the rest of the scrapes and road rash. Suoh's hands are hot on his skin, warmer than normal (he should know; he pays attention to _everything_ ). He and Kusanagi are scarily gentle with him, dramatically so compared to the way they normally push each other around.

Once they've put Totsuka back together and he's gingerly pulled his shirt back on, Kusanagi ruffles his hair and lets Totsuka lean on his shoulder. Suoh gets off the floor and slumps onto the other sofa across from the two of them. He looks uncomfortable. Not physically so, more like he's trying to say something and his voice has gone transparent and thin and won't come out.

"King?" says Totsuka. "You okay?" Suoh doesn't answer. "Something happen?"

"Something happened," Suoh says, under his breath. Kusanagi and Totsuka look at each other unsurely.

"What kinda something?" Kusanagi asks. The King sighs, long and low. He holds out his hand and snaps his fingers.

And flames flare up, golden-pink and stellar and jumping at the tips of his fingers. And slowly, in his own drawling, blasé manner, he explains. He explains it all, in wisps of smoke and heat and resigned annoyance.

The Red King, Suoh Mikoto.

Kusanagi looks stunned.

Totsuka's sort of always known, but he doesn't say so.

"So I guess, what I'm saying," Suoh finishes, "Is that I want you two to be my clansmen. I guess."

"You guess," Kusanagi repeats, incredulous. "You _guess_ you want us to stay by your side forevermore and fight for your sake and always be there when you need us. You _guess_. Not like we’re your best friends or anything."

Totsuka picks himself up off the couch and Kusanagi gets up along with him, and they stand before Suoh, Totsuka on the left, Kusanagi on the right.

"Make me yours, King," says Totsuka with a smile and a laugh. Suoh doesn't laugh back, but he offers Totsuka a wry smile and a Look, the kind that says everything without saying anything. He holds out a hand to each of them, and flames lick at his fingertips. He's offering them a gift, wrapped in terrifying light.

Neither he nor Kusanagi hesitates to take his hands.

Totsuka feels a calm but intense heat radiating through his King's fingertips. He tastes a rush of energy rocketing through his veins, prickling and bright and it feels like drinking the sunset. He lets it all in, and when the flames go out and he's still holding Suoh's hand, and still smiling, he can't think of anything he'd like to do more than curl up on the couch with his King.

So he does. He slips in close, with his head resting on Suoh's chest, and Suoh wraps an arm around him tightly, carefully. Kusanagi mirrors him with a smirk, winding his arms around Suoh's waist, draping his legs across both their laps.

"You're not afraid?" whispers Suoh.

"Why should we be?" says Kusanagi.

"I could kill you," he says. Kusanagi laughs. Totsuka reaches up and ruffles his hair.

"But you won't," Totsuka says, smiling. "I don't believe you could anyway. What I think, King, is that you've been given power because you've got something you want to protect."

The King says nothing, but he pulls them both closer and sighs, and Totsuka isn't sure if he actually hears him whisper " _Maybe…"_

 

* * *

  _Six Years Ago_

 

_Kusanagi_

                It’s a warm and windy summer day, the kind that makes you want to spend hours outside in the sun, when Kusanagi acknowledges there’s going to be a problem. It’s certainly not a problem he intends to fix, because it’s not the kind of problem that would actually impede his life if he just _never said it out loud_. It wasn’t nearly as big a problem a year ago, but over time it doubled, and the point at which it doubled was when it started to become a problem at all.

                The problem, he thinks, is really more of a conundrum. A puzzle, if you will. Rather, a tangle. A knot. Like headphone cords when they’ve been in your pocket too long. A mess waiting to happen.

                A mess called romance.

                He thinks he’s in love, and he thinks he must’ve messed up somewhere because isn’t your one true love supposed to be your _one_ true love?

                Kusanagi pretends to sleep in the sun on the stone rim of the fountain in the park, and he listens to the world. He thinks it’s better this way, if he pretends to be out cold in the hot summer sun. He can sit and contemplate to his heart’s content, instead of actually engaging Mikoto or Totsuka in conversation and inadvertently blurting out something embarrassing. Compromising. Something along the lines of “Let’s make out, now, passionately, in front of all the little kids with squirt guns playing in the park and minding their own business.”

                Okay, maybe it’s a bigger problem than Kusanagi’s willing to acknowledge. That’s why he isn’t acknowledging it. That’s definitely not what he’s doing.

                Kusanagi thinks that there’s probably a way they could work it all out; in any case he doesn’t think he could choose just one. Date Mikoto and Totsuka gets left out. Date Totsuka and Mikoto flips his shit all over the bar. Date neither of them and continue on in quiet monotony, pretending to sleep in the sun. Date them both. Smile a lot. Options, options, options.

                But for now, faking sleeping in the sun is too much of a draw, and eventually he just stops pretending and dozes off.

 

* * *

 

 

_Suoh_

                It’s a warm and windy summer day, the kind where you can see the heat in spirals as it stirs through the dusty breeze, when Suoh realizes there’s going to be a problem. It is a problem he has no way to fix, and frankly doesn’t understand the origins of, but that’s probably because prior to his eighteenth birthday a week ago, the burningly compelling, horribly destructive phenomenon called love had yet to burn its way into him. Or at least he hadn’t noticed it yet. Maybe it’d been there much longer than he’d thought, and it was just now hitting him.

                The slowly-melting line between friendship and romance, he thinks, is far too easily crossed. That’s not the problem; that happens all the time, in movies, on television, and among real people he passes on the street, even. That’s not the problem.

                The problem, Suoh thinks, is that he’s trying to cross the line in two different places at the same time. That’s the problem. Kusanagi Izumo and Totsuka Tatara are the problem.

                The three of them sit on the edge of the fountain in the quietest park in the city. Totsuka’s engaging in his most recent hobby and attempting to sketch various things in the area. Kusanagi is asleep in the sun, or at least he’s lying there with his eyes shut pretending. Suoh watches his popsicle melt, because trying to choose where else to look is too difficult.

                Suoh thinks that in the end, he doesn’t believe he’s got a “better half” out there somewhere. He’s got too many problems for just one person to make up for him. He doesn’t have enough good in him for one person to make up the other half of a complete goodness.  It’s more like, he needs two people to be his better two-thirds instead.

                Or maybe that’s just the best excuse he’s come up with yet.

 

* * *

 

 

_Totsuka_

It’s a warm and windy summer day, the kind where the sun kisses your face and the wind messes up your hair, and the three of them are at the park. Kusanagi is somewhere between sleep and deep thought, and Suoh is staring at his popsicle without realizing he’s melting it. Totsuka is doodling, his most recently acquired hobby. He thinks that the King makes a good model for drawing practice, because he doesn’t move much and doesn’t notice if Totsuka stares for too long.

                Kusanagi’s an even better model because he’s asleep.

                If ever Totsuka had considered his current situation a “problem,” he certainly doesn’t anymore. How could something as nice as love be a problem? Sure, it gets a little awkward when he tries to think about it beyond a superficial level, and sure, he’s likely never going to do anything about it and wait passively for it to dissipate, but being in love is never a problem.

                The problem is in the being loved back.

                If he says something about it, he has a feeling one or both of them would stare at him dumbfounded until he had no choice but to awkwardly backpedal his way out of the conversation. And probably right out of the bar, in fact. He thinks, _If I were a normal guy, and my odd underclassman just confessed his love to me and my best friend forever, I would be a little skeeved out._

                On the off chance, the one in a billion chance that it would turn out okay at the end of his confession and they wouldn’t just stop talking to him forever, he thinks that Kusanagi and the King might someday, at individual points, have the capacity to like him back. But right now he’s a kid, and he doesn’t think they’d consider him a viable option. Or they wouldn’t take him seriously, or… well, no, he’s sixteen now so they couldn’t make _that_ argument anyway.

                He rationalizes it six ways to Sunday, but he’ll never ever say it. And that’s the problem.

 

* * *

  _Four Years Ago_

 

_Kusanagi_

                The day they meet Yata and Fushimi for the first time is like a hurricane blew through the bar and took all of them with it.

                (He realizes, about halfway down the block after inviting the pair of them along for the ride, that it was the stupidest thing he could’ve possibly done).

                Yata’s basically in love with Mikoto at first sight. Kusanagi feels for Fushimi, who, despite hiding his feelings very well, is clearly dripping with jealousy. Kusanagi wants to tell him there’s no need to worry, because Mikoto’s twenty and Yata’s fifteen and frankly, that’s illegal. He also wants to tell him not to worry, because he’s already called dibs.

                Instead he holds his tongue and sighs as more and more minors end up in his bar. What can he do? Mikoto seems to attract high-energy teenage boys.

                He really hopes he doesn’t make a habit out of it. Kusanagi’s starting to get jealous of the entire rest of Homra for taking up Mikoto’s time.

                Totsuka slips behind the bar with Kusanagi and pokes him in the side until he eventually gets frustrated enough that he has to pay attention.

                “What’cha want?” he sighs, polishing a wine flute before replacing it on the shelf. “’m busy.”

                “You’ve been staring at the King all afternoon,” Totsuka points out.

                “And?”

                “And, well, I’ve been staring at you most of the afternoon, so I noticed.”

                “Totsuka, that’s a little shady.”

                “Thanks.”

                “Ain’t a complement, smartass.”

                “You’re not going to ask why?”

                “No.” Not for lack of wanting, though. _Nudge nudge, wink wink,_ says Kusanagi’s subconscious.

                “You look frustrated. Oh! I can give you a massage, I taught myself how to do that this week,” Totsuka suggests, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I was thinking of making that my new thing for a while.”

                “You’re a goof,” Kusanagi says, ruffling Totsuka’s hair. It’s soft and silky under his fingertips, and he lets himself linger just a little too long. His hand comes away smelling faintly like strawberries; must be Totsuka’s shampoo.

                (Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yata sitting just a little too close to Mikoto on the sofa, and he nearly breaks the glass he’s holding.)

                “Kusanagi-san,” Totsuka says. “You’re staring again.”

                “Clearly, so were you,” Kusanagi points out. “It’s gettin’ on towards evening,” he says, loud enough so the whole bar can hear him. “I’ll be gettin’ customers soon, so all you kids clear out! Mikoto, not you; you live here,” he says. Mikoto, who’d stood up reluctantly at the announcement, collapses gratefully back into the sofa. Yata pouts and complains as Fushimi drags him contentedly toward the door. Kusanagi catches Fushimi’s eye and gives him a knowing wink and a smile, and the poor kid turns six shades of embarrassed red and drags Yata the rest of the way out onto the sidewalk, Kamamoto and most of the rest of the boys following. Chitose and Dewa hang around, but they’re drinking age so Kusanagi doesn’t mind. Maybe they’ll actually pay this time, instead of saying “put it on my tab” like they have been for the past year.

                “Good fucking lord,” Mikoto groans. “That kid is a piece of work.”

                “You gonna let him join?” Totsuka wonders aloud, spinning his legs over the counter and hopping down. “Fushimi-kun too.”

                “If they want,” Mikoto says.

                “He’s a good kid,” Totsuka says, ambling over and sitting himself down where Yata had been. Somehow, Kusanagi isnt’ half as jealous of it this time. Maybe that’s because Totsuka is a big, glaring blind spot when it comes to those kinds of things.

                “He’s clingy and overenthusiastic,” Mikoto says. “Izumo, have I always been annoyingly charismatic, or did that just come with the territory?”

                Kusanagi drapes himself over the counter and smiles. “Hey,” he says, “I’ve known you since we were in middle school and I haven’t tried to kill ya yet, so that must count for something.”

                “Shut up.”

                Six weeks after, once the disaster that is rescuing Kushina Anna comes to a close, Kusanagi decides he needs a vacation to sort out his life. There is now not only a temperamental king living in his bar, there is also a little girl. Mikoto, for all he pretends like he doesn’t care, practically treats her like a daughter. He’s the king and she’s his princess.

                Kusanagi simmers silently behind the counter of the bar with acid jealousy he knows he shouldn’t feel.

                Totsuka sits down, half-dejectedly at the counter. “I’ll have one of your fancy drinks with the colored syrup in it,” he says.

                “You’re eighteen.”

                “Didn’t stop you when _you_ were eighteen.”

                “Ah, stow it,” Kusanagi says. He mixes Totsuka a drink anyway. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

                Totsuka sighs theatrically, takes too big a sip of his drink, and coughs as the hard alcohol burns his throat. It takes away from the dramatic atmosphere he was clearly trying to cultivate through his mood.

                “Spit it out,” Kusanagi says. “I ain’t waitin’ here all night for ya.”

                “Is it silly of me to be jealous of Anna-chan?” he blurts, and then looks around nervously. Mikoto’s not in the bar, thank god. Nobody, in fact, is in the bar. Mikoto’s upstairs, asleep, Kamamoto and some of the boys took Anna downtown to get her some clothes in colors other than blue, and Yata and Fushimi are god knows where doing god knows what. Totsuka is alone with Kusanagi, and it is time to vent.

                “Oh, Jesus. You too?” he laughs bitterly.

                Totsuka smiles sadly. “I don’t think you quite grasp what I mean by _jealous_.”                                     

                “You wanna be spending that much time with Mikoto, I getcha.” More like, _he lets her sit in his lap and he plays with her hair and he talks to her quietly, gently, who knew Mikoto could even_ be _gentle_ -

                Totsuka takes another (properly-sized this time) sip of his drink. “Sort of?” he laughs.

                “I know what’cha mean,” Kusanagi mutters.

                “Hey, Kusanagi-san,” Totsuka says, “You’ve dated a lot of people, right?”

                “No,” Kusanagi responds immediately.

                “Huh? But Chitose-kun says you’ve had a lot of girlfriends.”

                “I believe what Chitose said was‘He’s had a lot of _girls_ ,’ which is frankly a little different,” Kusanagi corrects. “I’ve never _dated_ anyone.”

                “One-night stands then?” Totsuka says, faking an overly-theatrical gasp. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were the type.”

                “Totsuka, what’s my job in Homra?” Kusanagi says, exasperatedly.

                “You’re an informant, right? You get information, whatever the cost- _Kusanagi-san!”_

                “Kidding, only kidding,” Kusanagi says, leaning across the bar to flick Totsuka on the forehead. “Lemme put it this way: I had to have a lot of sex with girls before it kinda hit me that sex with girls wasn’t really my style.”

                Totsuka gives him a look like an etch-a-sketch; blank, and a little bit shaken up.

                “I’m gay, kid,” Kusanagi says, deadpan. “Surprise.”

                “That’s actually not really surprising at all,” Totsuka says. And then, he says nothing at all, which strikes Kusanagi as a little bit odd.

                “And…?” he prompts.

                “And what?”

                “And, _I’ll support you no matter what your decisions in life are!_ Or _I still want to be your friend anyway!_ Or something dumb like that. I’m waiting for you to say one of ‘em.”

                “Why would I say something like that?” Totsuka wonders, genuinely confused. “Why would I want to stop being your friend over something like that? You know I’m pretty chill about whatever anyone wants to do with their own lives. _I_ do whatever I want; you can do whatever you want,” Totsuka says, smiling. “I guess I have a bit of a question, though.”

                “Oh?”

                “It’s a little awkward.”

                “I’m not explaining gay sex to you, Totsuka Tatara. Go google it or something.”

                “No, silly, I know how that works!” Kusanagi bites his tongue to keep from commenting. “It’s just… are you, um… Is… Are you and the King dating?”

                Kusanagi stares at him. He opens his mouth a few times like a dying fish, holding back a flood of frustration. In the end, he laughs melancholically and says, quietly, “Yeah, in my dreams.”

                “Oh,” Totsuka says. “Me too, I guess. In a manner of speaking.”

                “What.”

                “Not that I think I could compete with you,” he says, backpedaling rapidly. “Not that I’d _want_ to,” he adds, stressing it. “Really. I don’t… It’s hard to explain. I don’t want to compete with you over the King, Kusanagi-san. That’s not it at all-”

                “Kid, you’re gettin’ a little confusing.”

                “I’m sorry,” Totsuka mumbles and buries his face in his arms. Kusanagi sighs and pushes his hair out of his eyes. In his dreams, daydreams, undisclosed fantasies, he _is_ with Mikoto. But Totsuka’s always there too. He doesn’t think there’s any possible way to make him understand that, without making things infinitely awkward forever, without weirding Totsuka out first, making him not want to hear the rest at all. It’s an uncomfortable situation, like room-temperature milk left out overnight; nobody likes the taste of it, nobody wants any part of it.

                All Kusanagi wants is _them_.

 _Both_ of them.

                It’s difficult to explain, even to himself. And he wants desperately to explain things to Totsuka right now, because it’s breaking his heart to see him upset. He wants to tell him, he wants to just blurt it out, but that might just make things infinitely worse. He wants to pick Totsuka up and carry him all the way back through town to his apartment and just curl up with him in a pile of blankets and run fingers through his hair and tell him it’s going to be fine. He wants to kiss him, but he can’t.

                “I’m gonna close up the bar,” he says gently. “Can ya get yourself home, or d’you need me to drive?”

                “I’d like it if you could drive me back,” Totsuka mumbles through the sleeves of his jacket. “Please.”

                “Mmkay. Gimmie five to lock up and everything, and then we’ll get goin’.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Totsuka_

                The day of Totsuka’s father’s funeral is cloudy and calm, the way it gets right before it dumps unholy amounts of driving, bitter-green rain all across the city. A few people show up. Friends he had from gambling, his ex-wife and her new family, neighbors. Totsuka. Kusanagi comes with him, in a legitimate three-piece suit that looks expensive. Like something you’d want to wear to a wedding, not a funeral.

                People say a few things. Some of them look expectantly at Totsuka. Adopted or not, he _was_ his father. He’s supposed to say something. He has no idea what to say. Something, certainly. Something ought to be said. Totsuka thinks his father was right in the end; he _is_ cold-hearted, at least a bit. He can’t even think of a eulogy, so he just stands there in silence as they lower the coffin into the grave and the rain starts to drizzle down, slowly at first, then frantic, like tears.

                Suoh shows up, predictably late, in a leather jacket and cargo pants. He watches the very end of the ceremony with Kusanagi and Totsuka, and then the three of them leave. Kusanagi steps out early; apparently he’s got a special patron coming early to the bar and he has to go deal with her (he mutters something as he’s leaving about not wanting to get arrested, and something that sounds like _superiority complex even bigger than her tits_ , but Totsuka’s not really listening). He takes the Homra van when he leaves, so Suoh and Totsuka have to walk back in the rain.

                “He called me cold-hearted once,” Totsuka mentions, because it’s bubbling in his head like the ocean and it can’t help but waterfall out over his lips. “My dad, I mean. And I was kinda confused at the time, but I think he might’ve been right.”

                Suoh says nothing; he stares up at the sky with a catlike look of irritation and lets loose just enough red aura to evaporate the rain before it touches him.

                “I mean, the way I’m thinking about him even now,” Totsuka continues. “Honestly, he was hopeless. Addicted to gambling to the extent that his wife left him, but in the end he was just doing what he wanted with his own life. And that’s the way I live, I just do whatever I want, and as long as it’s not hurting anyone else… I guess, what I’m saying is, does thinking that way about him make me heartless? I’d rather think that he did what he liked with himself, because that’s nicer to think than to just… be sad.” And drown in it, because what’s going to happen tonight, most likely, is that Totsuka’s going to go home to a now-empty apartment, where the light bill hasn’t been paid and the only thing in the kitchen is leftover takeout and nearly-expired microwave curry, and an extra empty futon. And nothing else but Totsuka and the sad, bleak, empty walls.

                Suoh stops him by grabbing him by the head, and tousles his hair roughly.

                “Ow,” Totsuka says, and Suoh lets go. He gives him an uncharacteristically soft look; eyes hooded, almost barely smiling.

                He says, “Come on,” and beckons Totsuka along as he turns to go.

                “Huh?”

                “I gotta do my job as king,” he says. “So come on; you wanna be there for that, right?”

                Totsuka doesn’t exactly know what he means, but he follows Suoh anyway. Follows him all the way back, down familiar roads, and brings Totsuka… to his own apartment?

                “King…” Totsuka starts, but honestly enough he’s not sure where to start. He looks up the stairs at his doorway, and he rocks back and forth on his heels. Suddenly, startlingly, a cold rush of loneliness washes across him and leaves him standing there, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, shivering slightly.

                A single tear edges out of the corner of his eye and stays there, caught in his eyelashes.

                Suoh reaches up and brushes it gently away.

                “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s just rain.”

                “Bullshit,” says Suoh, and the look of concern he gives Totsuka is so flooring and so open and honest that he almost starts to cry for real. He steps forward and buries his face in Suoh’s jacket, so as not to let him see.

                “King,” he says, wavering a little, “I don’t want to be alone right now, so can I come back with you tonight?”

                “Are you an idiot?” Suoh asks, and Totsuka’s afraid he’s going to get rejected. And then, as surprising as his king’s concern, Suoh wraps one arm around Totsuka’s waist and the other around his shoulders and holds him tight. Totsuka tightens his grip on the fabric of Suoh’s shirt and lets his king’s warmth radiate through him and burn out the loneliness. “What’s that thing you always say?” Suoh says. “ _Don’t sweat it, everything’s going to be okay_ , or something.”

                Totsuka pushes back and stares up at Suoh, who’s staring back with eyes like the sun, ready to melt away anything that hurts. He stares up at him, and he smiles, slowly, and he laughs like summer, and Suoh smiles back, genuine and gentle.

                “Come on, let’s go crash Izumo’s date,” he suggests teasingly, letting Totsuka go and striding off purposefully down the street.

                “It’s a date?”

                “Like hell. But we’re gatecrashing anyway. No Scepter4 hardass is gonna steal him away if I got anything to say about it.”

                “If _we_ got anything to say about it,” Totsuka corrects, before he can stop himself, because in his mind, Kusanagi is his too. Suoh looks back at him, eyebrows raised, and then he smirks.

                “If you say so,” he says, and throws an arm around Totsuka’s shoulders as they head back to the bar. Totsuka feels far better already, having his King so close and being on his way to liberate Kusanagi from his not-a-date, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Suoh smiling like he knows the greatest secret in the world.

                He doesn’t even notice when the rain stops, because the entire walk back with Suoh, not a single drop gets within a foot of either of them. They’re practically _glowing_.

 

* * *

 

_Suoh_

                It is a dark and stormy night when Suoh meets Munakata Reisi for the first time, and it is an absolute unmitigated catastrophe. It involves Homra, now quite a ways into its existence, a smattering of members of a certain yakuza group with a grudge against Suoh, and eventually, SCEPTER4, which is where Munakata came in to begin with. But explaining it this way, Suoh thinks, is not nearly as entertaining. This is the kind of story, he thinks, that you tell over hard alcohol.

                The yakuza part is boring; it mostly involves a lot of setting people on fire, which in retrospect is likely why SCEPTER4 got called in to begin with. They threatened some of Homra’s younger members, and Suoh had showed up along with Kusanagi, Kamamoto, Yata and Fushimi (who honestly didn’t want to be there but came anyway for some reason), and started kicking a lot of ass. _Nobody messes with the red clan,_ thinks Suoh. He punches someone in the stomach, and gravity doesn’t function properly as the poor sucker’s launched into the opposing wall.

                Pretty much everything’s on fire.

                Isn’t it great?

                In the aftermath, as Kusanagi and Kamamoto are walking the other members of Homra back to the bar to recuperate, Suoh stands, surveying the damage to the warehouse they fought in to make sure nobody can sue him for it.

                A voice behind him says, “Suoh Mikoto, I presume.” It is the kind of voice that spins like silk in water, practiced, precise, and just pretentious enough to make him irrationally angry. As Suoh turns around, he feels as though he must be in a movie. The breeze is blowing his hair _just so_ , and sparks from the fire are dancing in the evening air, making the world glitter like he’s walking among the stars. He turns to face the owner of the voice, a young man with squared glasses and hair like the sea at night. He’s wearing a blue uniform that Suoh feels like he ought to recognize from somewhere very important…

                The young man says, “You’re under arrest.”

                And then it hits him. And so does the young man. He moves like lightning and strikes like it too.

                “The fuck was that for?” Suoh says, picking himself up off the cement.

                “I had a feeling you would not come quietly.”

                Suoh smirks daringly. “And you would know this _how_?”

              “Kindly do not change the subject.” The young man sighs. “In any case, you are under arrest. Please come with me.” He holds out a hand, as if to say _come along, let’s be friends. Now hold still while I fit these handcuffs to you._

                “Who the hell d’you think you are to arrest me?” Suoh says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m goin’ home.”

                The young man grabs him by the collar of his shirt and spins him back so they’re face to face. “My name,” he says, “Is Munakata Reisi. I am the Blue King, I am in charge of SCEPTER4, and I have every jurisdiction to drag you kicking and screaming to the nearest courthouse whether you want to go or not. You are under arrest for the rampant destruction of private and public property.”

                “And you,” says Suoh, “have a stick up your ass. I’m going home now.”

                “I am prepared to restrain you if need be.”

                “I hope you brought fireproof cuffs, pretty boy.”

                “ _Excuse me?_ ”

                “Seeya,” says Suoh, and pushes Munakata Reisi’s hand off of him as he turns once again to go.

                “At least put out the inferno you’ve left me to deal with,” says Munakata, edging his way off the cliff of desperation.

                It must be his first day on the job or something. The Blue King’s first time coping with Suoh and his entire existence as a walking natural disaster. It’s very entertaining to watch, from the opposing point of view. Suoh thinks briefly that right now, it must suck so hard to be Munakata Reisi. Nobody told the poor sucker what he was about to go up against, did they? Suoh almost feels bad for him.

                Almost.

                And so he says “Make me.”

                A short while later, Suoh returns to the bar with several injuries, a black eye, and a pair of broken glasses in his pocket. He hopes Munakata runs into a wall or two on the way back to SCEPTER4 HQ. Maybe a car. He fights way harder than any pretty-boy should have the right to.

                (Except for Kusanagi, but frankly, he’s earned it.)

                “King!” Totsuka cries when he enters. “What happened to you? You look like you had a bad run-in with a wood chipper.”

                “I met the new Blue King,” he says simply, and reaches over the top of bar to pull the first aid kit out from under the counter. Kusanagi laughs.

                “What’s he like?” Kusanagi asks. “I’ve heard a few rumors floatin’ around.”

                Suoh stops and thinks for a moment, about how exactly to describe Munakata Reisi without being an outright asshole about it. “Enthusiastic,” he decides. “He’s a dick. To the extent that his dickishness outweighs his unfortunate good looks.”

                “Mikoto, I forbid you to date him,” Kusanagi says indignantly. Suoh hopes he isn’t joking. “No fraternizing with the enemy, yeah?”

                “Right, because I totally want to get with someone who might slice off my dick with a three-foot katana,” Suoh says sarcastically. “He’s not my type.”

                “What _is_ your type, then, King?” Totsuka says, sitting down next to him at the bar. Suoh pointedly avoids the question and orders a beer.

                “That’s a good question,” Kusanagi says. “Mikoto, what even _is_ your type? Never seen ya date anyone in all the years we’ve been together.”

                Suoh thinks that this is because all these years, they’ve been together.

                He doesn’t _have_ a type. Or at least not one singular type. Totsuka and Kusanagi are too different to be grouped into one specific “type,” unless that type is “attractive members of Homra that are willing to cuddle with a walking firebomb.”

                “That’s beside the point,” Suoh says. “The new Blue King’s like the old one. He’s head of SCEPTER4.”

                “Meaning…” Totsuka prompts.

                “Meaning if we break the law, we actually have to deal with the consequences,” Kusanagi sighs, and hands Suoh his beer.

               He goes to bed an hour later, and is awakened at six the next morning by someone knocking on the door of the bar. Suoh stares angrily at the ceiling. Who the fuck has the gall to come soliciting at six in the morning? That’s just rude. In fact, it’s beyond rude. It’s downright unsociable.

                Suoh heaves himself out of bed, debates putting on a shirt, and decides it’s too warm out for that. Besides, it’s probably Kusanagi, and he’s probably forgotten his keys or something, so he doesn’t really give a damn about being in his boxers.

                Suoh arrives at the door and is suddenly very glad there’s a large glass window set into it, because now he’s seen who’s at the door and no longer feels any obligation to answer it; the person knocking at the door is Munakata Reisi.

                Through the door, Munakata says, “You are still under arrest, Suoh.”

                “And you are still a huge douche,” says Suoh, and promptly returns to bed.

                And that was that.

 

                Almost.

                Twenty minutes later, once he’s got his pants and a shirt on, he’s running down the street with fire in his eyes because _how dare that fucker bust down his door?_

                (It’s not even _his_ door.)

                Thinking about it, he should’ve seen it coming.

                Thinking about it, Munakata shouldn’t have woken him up before noon in the first place.

                He shows up twenty minutes later at Kusanagi’s apartment and climbs in through the window. Kusanagi, who had been asleep until this point, is reasonably disgruntled by the fact that all Suoh’s telling him is “I’m resisting arrest” and refuses to explain why there is a very angry head of Scepter4 at his door.

                Eventually, Kusanagi says to Suoh, who’s stashed himself in the closet, “Scoot over; I ain’t takin’ the blame for ya.” And they spend the entire morning pretty much nose-to-nose, in the dark, in the closet.

                This irony is lost on absolutely no one.

                (And that truly was that.)

 

* * *

  _(Still) Four Years Ago_

_Kusanagi_

                Months later, after drinking quite a lot more alcohol than any eighteen-year-old has the right to imbibe, Totsuka explains everything to Kusanagi. _Everything_ , how he’s in love with Mikoto _and_ in love with Kusanagi, and how he’s so confused as to how it even happened, and how he’s scared that they’ll ditch him for being a creep. He tells him everything, up to and including several private fantasies (to these, Kusanagi just nods and grins and silently vows to act upon them later).

                When Totsuka finishes his rambling drunken tirade with a teary “D’you hate me now?” it is all Kusanagi can do to keep from kissing him right then and there. He’s just suddenly so vulnerable, so soft and open and breakable in this moment, and Kusanagi wants to wrap him in blankets and kiss his lips and protect him from the rest of the world. He wants to make sure the sun never stops shining on Totsuka Tatara.

                Instead, he shakes his head reassuringly and steps out from behind the bar. He lifts Totsuka up princess-style (he’s drunk enough that he’ll have trouble walking anyway) and says softly to him, “I feel the exact same way ‘bout you and Mikoto.” As he walks them out the door, doing his best not to drop Totsuka as he locks up the bar, he almost adds something else, but then he realizes Totsuka’s asleep in his arms. So he walks them home through the quieter streets of the city, back to his apartment. He removes both their shoes and changes into something more comfortable to sleep in. He debates putting Totsuka in a nightshirt or something, but figures if he wakes up in nothing but one of Kusanagi’s t-shirts he might freak out and that’d just be awkward.

                So he leaves Totsuka in his jeans and V-neck sweater and lays him down on the bed, pulls the covers up over both of them, and falls asleep peacefully.

 

* * *

 

_Totsuka_

                Totsuka wakes up in Kusanagi’s arms in an unfamiliar room and hopes he hasn’t said or done anything he’ll regret when the hangover wears off. He’s sure he remembers most of the night; he was very drunk for most of it, and his words were a waterfall, uncontrollably spilling out in babbling, mumbling expositions of his feelings.

                And then it hits him, the last think Kusanagi said before he must’ve passed out: _I feel the exact same way_ _‘bout you and Mikoto._

Despite the pounding headache and the lingering burn of alcohol at the back of his throat, Totsuka breaks into a huge, relieved grin that dares to outshine the morning sun. He rolls over to face Kusanagi, still smiling, and bumps their noses together affectionately. Kusanagi’s eyes flutter open and he yawns. He shuts his eyes and tightens his embrace, pulling Totsuka as close as he can. _It’s the most comforting thing in the world, being held by someone_ , Totsuka thinks. If he could have the King wrapped around him like this too, he’s sure the world would just stop twirling right then and there because everything would finally be perfect.

                “G’mornin’,” Kusanagi says softly, and kisses Totsuka gently on the lips. It seems softer than Totsuka would’ve imagined; in his mind, Kusanagi kisses like the fancy drinks he’s so good at making: smooth and intense and deep.

                But then, it _is_ first thing in the morning, and he’s probably got a bit of a hangover too.

                “Should we call Mikoto?” Kusanagi asks, casually running a hand through Totsuka’s hair.

                “It’s pretty early in the morning,” Totsuka says. “What’re we calling him for?”

                “To tell him, I guess.”

                “What, that we’re in love with each other and we both want him too?” Totsuka laughs. “Because the probability of all three of us feeling the same way like that is pretty low.”

                “Optimism, Totsuka. Optimism. Ain’t _you_ supposed to be the optimistic one?”

                Totsuka laughs. “Maybe.”

                “What’s that thing ya always say when you’re tryin’ to reassure us ‘bout something?”

                “ _Don’t sweat it, everything will work out just fine_ , right?”

                “Right. That. It’ll work out.”

                “If you say so.”

                “I damn well do say so,” Kusanagi says, pouting.

                “By the way, Kusanagi-san…” Totsuka says. “Did we… I mean, we haven’t… Not yet, certainly, I mean… did we… we’re still dressed, so I don’t think we…”

                “Are ya tryin’ to find out if we screwed last night, kid?”

                Totsuka nods. Kusanagi laughs.

                “Ya fell asleep, goofball. ‘Sides, you were too drunk to say no, and I’d be a dick if I did anythin’.”

                “Oh. That’s very chivalrous of you, Kusanagi-san.” Totsuka smiles.

                “Chivalry ain’t got jack to do with it; it’s called bein’ a decent human being.” He sits up (Totsuka whines, _No, come back, you’re warm and comfy)_ , reluctantly, and grabs his cell phone off the bedside table. “C’mon, let’s call Mikoto.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Suoh_

                It is three hours too early for Suoh to wake up when his phone starts belting out Queen, which is the ringtone Kusanagi set for himself in Suoh’s phone when they first exchanged numbers. It’s not the most enjoyable thing to wake up to first thing in the morning.

                That said, it’s also not Munakata breaking down his door, so it could be leagues worse.

                Kusanagi insists on going out for breakfast at this neat little place Totsuka knows that serves tea and crepes. He says something along the lines of “And ya better come, ‘cause I know if I don’t make you eat somethin’ good you’ll just end up eatin’ stale cereal again and I ain’t havin’ any of that!”

                So he texts Kamamoto and drops Anna off at his place (because “Oh, and come by yourself,” Kusanagi had said) and shows up ten minutes late at the Jasmine Café to find Totsuka and Kusanagi sharing a strawberry crepe at the table in the window.

                “You better not expect me to eat that sugarbomb with you,” he says, sitting down at the table with them. He orders himself a coffee (black, ~~like his soul~~ ) and an omelet, and he absently dumps ketchup all over it while he watches Kusanagi and Totsuka from across the table.

                The sun is pouring in the windows of the café like a vibrant flood, and the windchimes outside tinkle in the breeze. Everything is overlaid in a soft, warm, honey-colored peacefulness that Suoh feels he can almost run his fingers through.

                Kusanagi and Totsuka are sitting a little too close together.

                (When one does nearly nothing but sit in stoic silence and watch the world go by, they tend to notice the precise distance at which people insist on being separated from each other. Kusanagi and Totsuka average at about eleven inches, with a standard deviation of three and a half.)

(Not that he’s keeping track or anything.)

                “So,” he says, casually, “any particular reason you woke me up at eight in the morning on a Saturday just to have breakfast?”

                “You ordered coffee at a renowned tea shop,” Totsuka points out fake-grumpily, ignoring the question entirely.

                “It’s a café, moron. Answer me.”

                At this exact moment, Totsuka takes a long sip of his very floral-smelling tea. Suoh looks at Kusanagi, who hurriedly shoves a large messy forkful of crepe into his mouth.

                “You’re covered in strawberry crap,” Suoh points out, and Kusanagi shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. Totsuka picks up a napkin and he _fucking wipes Kusanagi’s mouth for him, okay, what is going on?_

They both turn to look at Suoh at the same moment; Kusanagi turns an interesting shade of red, and Totsuka says, “King, if you let your mouth hang open like that, you’ll catch flies.”

                “What the hell’s going on with you two?” Suoh asks.

                “Nothing,” they say in tandem, and then they both catch each other’s eye and blush.

                “Guys,” Suoh says. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

                “Finish your breakfast,” Kusanagi says, pointing his fork at Suoh’s empty plate. “Uh…”

                “Finish your coffee,” Totsuka tries; he already has.

                “Check, please,” Suoh says to the waitress as she bounces by, and she flashes him a sweet smile. Totsuka and Kusanagi both watch her sharply, discerningly as she retreats behind the counter.

                _Perhaps_ , Suoh thinks, _I’m still asleep, and this is just a bizarrely vivid dream I’m having._ To test this theory, he re-checks his surroundings. Soft morning light; calm late-summer breeze; the coffee machines behind the counter are all dripping at about the same speed. It’s the right temperature for the second day of September, certainly, the kind of crisp sunny lukewarm-ness that comes in with the wind after the hottest days have worn off.

                Totsuka’s wearing the same pants he had on yesterday, plus a somewhat fancy shirt with the sleeves rolled up _since it’s too big on him, because it definitely belongs to Kusanagi_ -

                The waitress drops off the check with a flourish, and Kusanagi pays for all three of them because he’s the only one responsible enough to be in charge of Homra’s finances anyway, and they leave the café.

                Once they’re a reasonable ways down the sidewalk and into the crowded roar of the city, Suoh says, “Explain yourselves.”

                What he means to say with this is something a little more specific, and in his head sounds like _Explain yourselves, because what I’ve just witnessed is the pair of you essentially having a glorious morning after and inviting me along to bask in the secondhand afterglow, and I’m starting to feel left out of the action_.

                But then, loquaciousness has never come easy to him.

                “What’cha mean by that, Mikoto?” Kusanagi says.

                Suoh thinks for a moment. Scrunches up his eyebrows, bites his lip.

                Eventually, he says, as emphatically as he can through his natural stoicism, “Was that a goddamn _date_?”

                “Depends what you mean by date,” Totsuka says airily.

                Suoh takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Did you just invite me along on a date to make it less awkward between the two of you?”

                “What?” says Kusanagi.

                “No,” says Totsuka.

                “What makes you think that?” Kusanagi asks.

                “You were on the date _with_ us,” Totsuka points out.

                The world tilts on its axis as a very solid realization blindsides Suoh Mikoto and ricochets off into space.

                Date.

                On a date with Totsuka and Kusanagi.

                He was just.

                Suoh thinks, in this long and drawn out moment of sudden understanding, that he can feel the world boiling around himself because his emotions are bouncing around inside his head like Ping-Pong balls.

                In reality, the “long and drawn out moment” is only a few seconds, and the world is not burning down because he’s lost control of himself; he’s just blushing furiously.

                “Oh,” he says, because what else _do_ you say when you find out that you no longer have to awkwardly explain being head over heels for both of your best friends at once? What do you say when you realize you’ve just gone on a surprise date with the boys you love? What do you say when you’re stopped in front of a beautiful lookout point and the sunrise is gleaming over the ocean behind you and they’re both looking hopefully into your eyes?

_Which of them do you kiss first?_

Suoh asks this last one, and both of them burst into perfect laughter. Totsuka tackle-hugs him up against the railing at the edge of the lookout, and answers his question for him by pressing his lips lightly against Suoh’s. He tastes like sweet tea and sunlight and Suoh pulls him into an embrace that lifts him completely off the ground. They break apart, and he puts Totsuka down. Kusanagi leans over Totsuka’s shoulder to capture Suoh’s lips in a kiss like strawberry and fireworks, and his hands are in Suoh’s hair - _goddamn it, they’re in public!_

Eventually they pull away, and Suoh feels electric, like nothing in the world can bring him back down, and for once he thinks that’s okay.

                So, before the euphoric haze can wear off entirely, he asks, “Izumo, how close is your apartment?”

                Kusanagi smirks and says “Not close enough, apparently.”

 


End file.
